Squirtbath

Paige shows up on Whitney Wright's doorstep with a notebook and a list of questions. She writes for the local paper, and Whitney is the porn star everyone wants to profile. Things go smoothly until Paige asks about squirting. The word is new to her, and she wants to get it right. Whitney leans back, spreads her legs a little wider, and lets the thought take hold. Her voice drops when she answers. "Why don't I just show you?" Paige sets the notebook aside. Minutes later they are naked on the couch, fingers working between slick folds, legs trembling. Whitney comes first, a hot rush that sprays across Paige's stomach. Paige answers with a sudden flood of her own, soaking the cushion beneath them. She keeps going, pulse after pulse, until the fabric beneath her is drenched. Whitney laughs softly, amazed, and pulls her closer. When the tremors ease, Whitney nods toward the hallway. "There's something else I want you to feel." They step into the next room. An empty inflatable pool waits on the floor. Whitney presses a button on a small remote, and clear lube begins to drip from a line above them, slow and steady, coating their hair, their shoulders, their breasts. They kiss under the slow fall of it, tongues sliding, hands roaming. Paige's natural tits glisten. Whitney's fingers find her again, pressing deeper this time, working her open until Paige gasps and another rush of liquid spills down her thighs, mixing with the lube already pooling at their feet.